LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Shelf .*.-^_5 1)6. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



A DREAM OF LILIES 



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Copyright, 1898. 
By J. G. CUPPLES COMPANY 

At'/ r lights i-c served. 




©ebication 

Zo t^e szoect memory of 

m)? sister ^dcna 

)£)^o Ju^as tn^cn from eart^ 

in t^c sprmg?fime of ^cr gears 

an^ f6e fieautp of ^er innocence 

io^en t^^ &or^ );5ent ^omn into i^is gatben 

to gather fifies. 




Contnii^, 



A DREAM OF LILIES 

INADEQUATE 

LOST LABOR 

OLD year's ghost's AT NEW YEAR'S 

A CONVERT 

NEW LAND AND NEW LIFE 

THE KINGS AND THE STAR 

A BRAVE man's HOPE 

A PRAYER OF SHAD(^WED HEARTS 

CHRIST IN THE WILDERNESS 

" BEHOLD, THY KING COMETH " 

CONSUMMATUM EST 

CHRIST AND THE MOURNERS 

AT A GRAVE ON EASTER-DAV 

NOT OUT OF SIGHT 

(V.) 



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THE PRAYER OF ST. BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX 

THE CHUKCII OF THE SACRED HEART 

LOTUS AND LILY 

TRUCE . 

IN SIGHT OF HOME 

CHOSEN .... 

VANQUISHED {FoK a A'ltii's Profession) 

MY father's house 

MISPRIZED 

AN ALTAR-LAMP 

A life's REGRET 

A CHRISTMAS RHYME 

" YE DID IT UNTO ME " 

RENDING THE VEIL 

THE SHRINE PROFANED 

THE HEAVIEST CROSS OF ALL 

THE CHRISTMAS THORN 

SUCCESS 

COLUMBUS, THE KNIGHT OF FAITH 

IN THANKSGIVING 



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% §rfam of plica". 

She dreamed that on a hilltop bright and stilly, 
A garden girt with thorny hedges grew, 

Wherein no flower bloomed but the pure white lily ; 
Over it smiled far Heaven serene and blue. 
And fair, all fair, 

Lilies and buds and leaves beyond compare. 

And many a morn she sought that garden gladly 
To gaze upon the lilies sheltered there ; 

And, when the shadows lengthened, left it sadly. 
Sighing, " Would it were opened to my prayer ! " 
Alas, Alas ! 

The piercing thorns kept guard — she could not pass. 

Not dulled by cold delay, but fiercer growing. 

Her longing and her yearning — quenchless fire — 

Till flesh and spirit, all entranced, were glowing 
With the resistless flame of her desire. 
And then, one day. 

It burned through circling thorns her eager way. 

(0 



^^ 



Out of her glad heart singing swift slie entered, 
Nor recked she of the earth-life's drear eclipse — 

When lo ! on One her tranced gaze was centered, 
And the song faltered on her trembling lips — 
•■ Oh, who art Thou 

With l()\ing, sorrowful eyes and kingly brow? 

Oil, who art Thou among the lilies dwelling, 

Looking with tenderest pity upon me, 
In majesty the sons of men excelling ; 

Where'er Thou movest, see, how joyfully 
Upon their stem 
The lilies tremble as Thou sniilest on them ! 

"Oh, give me of Thy lilies, I entreat Thee — 

Here I would hide me from earth's gaud and glare, 

And at the gates of Life Unending meet Thee, 
Bearing the lily-bloom unstained and fair," 
— Then, murmured He, 

" Wouldst bear the lily, thou must follow me. 

" And, oh, remember that the way is dreary, 

Thorn-strewn and rough where'er thy feet are pressed ; 
And often thou wilt falter and be weary, 

(2) 



« 







And then there will be none to bid thee rest." 
— But still, she said, 
" Oh, let me follow whither Thou hast led. 

" I care not though all sorrows press upon me ; 
Darkness nor storm no more affrighteth me ; 
For Thine exceeding loveliness hath won me, 
x\nd all things are as naught except for Thee — 
And, even so. 
Whither Thou goest. Beloved, I will go." 

Then from its stem He brake a fair white lily 
Dew-gemmed and fragrant, and He gave it her — 

There in His blessed garden, bright and stilly — 
And she sank breathless ; then light v/inds astir, 
And, instant shone 

A deeper glor3^-light — and He was gone. 

Gone, too, the lily-garden erst so blooming, 
Gray was the sky above and chill the air. 
And the bleak earth the joy of life entombing. 
No trace of vanished flower or leafage bare. 
And all alone. 
She wept the bliss foregone she might have known. 
(3) 



k 




" (Jh, maiden, for thine answered prayer art grieving ? " 

Spake a clear voice. 'I'hen she beheld afar 
An angel with while wings the still air cleavings 
And on his brow there blazed a radiant star — - 
Nigher and nigher, 
lie came, and held unsheathed a sword of fire. 

" Love bade thee choose the lilies, rise and cheer thee. 

Love bids me guard thee : lo ! I walk beside, 
Unseen, henceforth, though ever, ever near thee." 

" And will thou never l(?ave me, then ? " she cried. 

— "Wilt surely stay? " 
"Lo, I am with thee till thy dying day." 

But though she rose, her will to Heaven resigning. 

And though the task Cxod gave her was undone — 
For that dear Visible Presence she was pining — 
" Naught," she said, " gladdens me beneath the sun. 
When shall I see 
Mine own Belove'd in Kternity." 

•7. '-r ^ ^- -Jv ^ 

She woke. Sad dreams and glad alike have ending, 
And oft we're fain to weep when glad ones go, 

(4) 



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Bui since her dream a strange, sweet peace is blendinc 
With all her work and will—and even so — 
She's fain to deem 
The lily garden was not all a dream. 



(5) 



The least of loving is in having, clear ; 

To-morrow you will wake to weariness, 
And shrink, betimes, in heart-sickness and fear. 

Ah, woe ! from hands that now you'd kneel to kiss. 
You'll wake to your life-dream fulfilled, aghast ; 
Would God this dream, as other dreams, had passed ! 

The least of loving is in having. Light 

Night with a firefly : quench the flame that glows 

From thirst for the Exhaustless, Infinite, 

With the small dewdrop in the heart of a rose. 

The best of loving will be having, never. 

Till, having All, you're sure of it Forever ! 



ir.) 





Xo.-it Cabov. 



Oh, Giver of all good gifts! VViiat render we 

Again to 'I'hee of all Thy hands have given ? 

What hast 'i'hou of our strength, () God in Heaven ? 

Thou gavest the singing voice — wiiat songs for Thee ? 

When most we fear Thee, a presumptuous leaven 

Pervadeth all our prayer. Or, niggardly, 

We grudge 'I'hee what a friend hath full and free, 

A thought at dawn of day, a word at even. 

Lose not your patient sweat, O fashioners 

With plane, or drill, or chisel — though the men 

Of fairer face and softer hands forget. 

They err, but the All-Knowing never errs. 

What matter, when the work's done, plane or pen, 

So the heart's will to God's dear Will was set ! 

II. 
Who gathereth nr^t with nic, he scattereth ; 
W'ho standetli not with me, against me stands-^— 

(7) 



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Vs^ 




Beating the air with unavailing havids ; 

His work is idleness, his life is death— 

So warnest Thou, Christ, Lord of all lives and lands, 

In whom our hope, yea, even our daily breath. 

Oh, what men's praise ? — a wind that fluttereth 

The choking, blinding, burning desert sands. 

Oh, what avails it that is not for Thee, 

That spreads not every day the boundaries 

Of Thine Earth-Kingdom ; sets thy flag aflame 

On farther heights and headlands ? Oh, that we 

Should lose for paltriest seeming all that is, 

For time's exaltin":, risk eternal shame ! 



(8) 




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^^itt*^ 



(Out nycar.^' CiUo.^t.o' at ^\c\v ^far'is. 

"A IIai'I'V Nkvv \\:.\k and many ! '"—one or tenor a 

score ? — 
Till the old life's done and the new bejiun where we 

reckon by years no more ! 

'Twere sweet to rest nrjr (jiiestion, here at the fateful ;,Mte. 
Unmindful of the years gone by, as of the years that 
wait. 

r)h, but the dead, lost years to-ni;^ht, like souls in drearest 

pain, 
Grieve for all life's vain vigils, vain love and labf>r 



" Where are the crowns of glory our pallid brows should 



\\'here the ininiortal fruitage our empty hands should 
bear ? 

(9) 



Where are the songs of triumph it should be ours to sing? 
What shall we plead for you and for us when we come 
before tlu' Kin^' ? 

Redeem us, oh, redeem us ! and if you will — ah, well, 
'i'he time that is left is so short at best that every day 

must tell. 

Late, seeing the end of tlie world in your fair shrines 

ligiUning-riven, 
In the signs in the sun and moon, in the stars that fell 

from Heaven 

Stricken, shattered, sori'-iicarted, you shrank from the eyes 

of men. 
Moaning, '() (lod ! is Heaven tlie cliance to begin 

airain ? ' 



]>ut lo ! the love of I lis Heart and the mercy of His 

ways. 
To whom the days are as ages, and tiie ages but as 

days 

(lO) 




iww^^a^ 




Again the New Year dawiu'lh —again the woiulroiis 

grace - 
Aiul still in )()ur iiands our ransom you hold for a little 

space. 

I'ut one year more, or many? — the time is short at best, 
Redeem us, oh, redeem us I the restless dead would 
rest." 



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^ ronvcrt. 

pRAisK ! I'riciul, in soolli, 
Ymi do inc j^ricvoiis wron<^. 

I had my youth. 

Yea, and my ycnilli was l<jnj^. 

Fame, beauty, gold, 

Lovers — a score. 
What lips so hold 

As whisper change in stcjre, 

Fell a dark day 

My pleasant paths across. 
Love fled away 

PVom pain, and shame, and loss. 

Passed from friends' ken 
Alone the thorns I trod ; 

All failed — and then 
I gave myself to Ood. 

(12) 

9 




Oh, my short years, 

With lost ycarr, to retrieve; 
( )h, wasted tears, 

Now real t^riefs are to grieve. 

I'raise ! win me graee 

iMom my least's accusing eyes. 
Praise ! hide my face 

f'rom Angels' sad surprise. 



(■3) 



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gew i:and ixwA few pfc. 

Behold, your quest is ended, 

And the New Land stninge and splendid, 
No longer luring from afar, is firm beneath your tread ; 

And the way is free before ye, 

The skies unclouded o'er ye, 
And the past is dust and darkness, and the dead have 
earthed their dead. 

Raise your cross and raise your altar, 

Why shrink ye thus, and falter ? 
Are ye men, or love-lorn maidens ? ye late were stern 
and brave. 

What's worth a strong man's weeping.' 

The New Land hath in keeping — 
Guerdon for valiant battle that the Old Land never gave. 



Have done with fruitless yearning, 
Know ye not there's no returning ? 

('4) 





'I'lic wrathful sea's between ye and your far-off fatherland. 
The worst it threatens brave ye ? 
Now from yourselves I save ye — 
Lo, the ships tliat brought ye hitlier al)laze upon the 
strand. 



(15) 





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(The Tunno and the ^t;u*. 

We have seen I lis Strxr in ihc Kast, and are c^nie to adore 

Him, 
King of the kings of tiie earth, and who is jjefore Him ? 
Show us where He abideth — love without measure 
We would lay at His royal feet witii the wealth of our 

treasure. 



Long liave we followed the Star, and at last it is resting 
Over yon hill. We are slow for all of our hasting. 
Minutes move leaden-winged when the quest is ending, 
And the mists melt slow that show faith and fulfilment 
blending. 



But is it for this we've left power and place and treasure — 
The clinging wives and the little ones, the paths of our 

kingly pleasure ? 
Oh, the changing and losing and dying ere our returning! 
Naught to be ours as of old, for all of our yearning. 

(i6) 



King ? — A weakling babe — Queen-mother ? — a maiden 
lowly — 

Palace? A cave in the rock. Vet, Lord Almighty, All-holy, 

We see through the veils; thou art King and none is be- 
fore Thee, 

And we've seen 'I'hy Star in the PLast, and are come to 
adore Thee. 

What shall we have, great King, for our thrones for- 
saken ? — 

Sudden their lips are mute and their spirits shaken. 

Is it the Christ-Child's answer .' are they divining 

Aught of a coming woe in His eyes' clear shining ? 
* * * 

Ah, beyond the hearts of rock, love's patient labor defying. 

Beyond the sword and the block, and the pangs of the mar- 
tyrs' dying. 

They followed the Star again, and again they found tlie 
King; 

But now to share in the glory of His endless triumphing. 



(17) 




§1 ^vave pan's! Ilope. 

From tlw Frt'iu/i of Louis Vi-nillot. 

I HOPE in Thee, O Christ ; on eartli I never 
Blushed for Thy Cross nor Thee ; 

And on the Judgment Day, before Thy P'ather, 
Thou wilt not blush for me. 



(18) 



^ I'vaycr of ^luuloucrt Ttcart.o. 

The grief, long dreaded, nears us. Mother, see ! 

How the weird shadows liide the sun's warm glow ! 

Ah, by thine own unutterable woe, 
When the sharp sword of Simeon's prophecy 
Rended the veil 'twixt Calvary and thee, 

And then transpierced thy soul ; — (ior, even so 

Our shrinking and our shuddering dost thou know ! ) 
Comfort us with thy pity motherly, 
And make us wise in time. Too oft, ala.s ! 

The mercy of God's sword we would not see, 
Nor His supreme love-token in the Cross, 
We blindly let the hours of sorrow pass 

Void of fruition for eternity, — 

The while the wondering angels wept our loss. 





(Hhvi.^it in the Witdcvttcj&si. 

Thou hast gone out from Nazareth's shelter sweet, 
From Mary's mother-love, so pure, complete, 
Over a long and drear and perilous way, 
Into the wilderness to fast and prav. 
Wherefore, my f jod, must all this anguish be ? — 
Meekly Thou answerest — '' For thee, for thee." 

Art Thou not weary of the desert bare — 
The rock and sand and sun, the blistering air? 
Were not the rivulet to Thy parched lips balm ? 
Yearnest Thou not for the green, sheltering palm ? 
Art Thou not lonely, dearest Lord, — ah, me ! 
Though hosts of angels bear Thee company ? 

One slender shade is in the desert-land. 
The shadow of the Cross athwart the sand : 
But sharp and clear and present to Thine eyes, 
The awful agonies of Calvarv rise. 
The Cross's shadow greateneth for me — 
Ah, but the cruel nails are all for Thee ! 
(20) 






O mystery of untold tenderness — 
A boundless, shoreless sea Thy love's excess ! 
O I could weep methinks in Heaven above 
To see my Maker pleading so for love ! 
Tempted and tried and sorrowing for me — 
Lord, can Thy lowliest do aught for Thee? 



(21) 





♦• §(hold, 5^Hy Mn^ (llumfth." 

O DRESS thy tent with lilies and witli pahns, 
Robe thee in marria<;e-rainient white and holy, 

And greet His coming with rejoicing psalms, 

Who hath not scorned to choose a bride so lowly 

Go forth, upon His pathway gladly flinging 

All the poor treasures thou hast deemed so fair; 

Eehold ! He comet h from the Orient, bringing 
Sceptre and crown for His beloved to share. 

O favored one ! all lesser hnes forsaking 

(Frail must they seem to thee, and cold and dim,) 

Fly to thy King, nor falter, swiftly breaking 

The bonds that strive to hold thee back from Him. 

But thou art silent; love, perchance, doth still thee 
In trance ecstatic, deepening more and more ; 

Yet bliss diviner draweth near to thrill thee — 

The King's bright heralds pass thy thteshold o'er. 

(22) 



'li^.^ 






Why, oil tliy iiiaiTi;i;4e-<l;iy, in iiiournin;^ langiiisli ? 

J>o, 111! is come ;il hisl, lliy Spouse, thy King ! 
Why look on Him in wiiile and wordless anguish ? 

Why \vei;p? Those tears are not love's welcoming. 

His sad eyes meet thine own, in mercy heeding 

'i"hy soul's wild agony rellecled there, 
Shrink'st thou because His fair white brow is l)leeding 

Unrler the royal crrnvn His bride must share? 

Shrink'st thou because His choice means pain unspoken, 
Shadows and tears, dread changes, bitter loss. 

The sword unsheathed, sweet bonds forever broken ? 
Shrink'st thou because His sceptre is a cross? 



(23) 



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^on.5iummatMm (»:,$t. 

Do I wake or dream .-' Is it sight or seeming? 
Dying — the sword upHft and gleaming ? 

1 am fair and strong. 

I had phmned me a day serene and long. 

Is it ended quite 

Planning and lal)or and love's delight .' 

O Lord. Life-Giver, Life-Cherisher, see 
The little lives that have need of me. 

Hearts bound in mine. 

By the love of that human 1 leart of Thine, 
Tender for all. 
The awful word of Thy power recall. 

My kindred dear 

Are not in Heaven, but all, all here— 
Oh, much to live for and much to love, 
Hast Thou given me, God above ! 
Over and done ! 
\\'hy, the best of my life is but just begun. 

' (24) 



C 






Not yet at its noon 

The sun of my summer-time — soon, too soon, 
Thou art calling me. 

Lord of Time and Eternity, 
What are a score of years to 'I'hee ? 

Stay the hand on the dial — 
Nay, no denial ! 

1 would live, 1 would live — I've lived true to Thee- 
Have pity on me ! 

***** 

No respite, none ! 

Then, God, if it must be, 'J'hy will be done. 
Ah me ! Ah me ! 
Through the dusk of this drear eclipse 1 see 

The dear, dead Christ, 

For me and my Heaven sacrificed, 
White on the Cross the Atonement dread 
Consummated. 

Let me hide my face in the dust at His feet 

While the last hours fleet. 
I will trust His love for the life that's done, 
And tiie life begfun. 



(25) 



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(TUvi.^t and the ^tlourncv.si. 

Down on the sliLidowed stream uf time and tears, 
Voice of new grief and grief of ancient years — 
Sad as wlien tirst from loving lips 'twas siglied — 
" Hadst Thou been here, my l:)rother had not died." 

Comfort us. Lord, wlio heardst poor Martha's plaint, 
Heal the sore heart, uplift the spirit faint — ■ 
O Thou, the Peace that cometh after strife ! 
O Thou, the Resurrection and the Life ! 

Why didst Thou take the love we leaned on so ? 

We know not, but hereafter we shall know. 

Speaks now our faith, through tears Thou wilt not chide, 

" Most wert Thou here when our beloved died.'' 








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3^t a Cuavc on tfajsitfr-llay. 

Credo .... /// Ju'SKrrcclioiinii A/iu/i/orian. 

I KNOW tin,' s\\\v^ of (KmiIi il> N-ictory — 

SincL' OIK' more dear than niinr own life is dead ; 

.\n(l I can iicvcr more 1)C' comforti'd, 

\\ liak'vcr love may come in years to In-, 

'I'ill (lod i;ive I)a{k what I)(alh has wrenched from ine, 

\'et, ye would shiy my hope. \\ho was it said 

"There is no resurrection for such dead, 

W'liat thou hast lost hath jK-rished utterly?" 

I'"alse seer ! my dead shall li\'e aL;ain, i know. 
Those eyes f)iu:e oh, so kind ! shall .smile again ; 
.And the dear hands that wrout^hl hut <;c)()d to me, 
Mold mine in warm close clasp. i can forego 
Life's solace, and he patient with it.s pain 
Until the day-hrcak and the shadows flee. 



(27) 



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STot out of %ii^ht. 

So sad in life, cvrn wlu'ii thy lips were smiling, 
Those conilortini;', compassionate eyes of ihine ; 

So eloquent, another's pain beguiling, 

" r.o, my friend grieves, and all his grief i^ mine." 

Who knew thee came to thee in trust unbounded^ 

Was e\-er depth thine own soul had not sounded ? 

1 wonder is it jo}' to thee in J leaven, 

Oh, loving", helping, giving — now to know 

The love and grief to thy dear memory given. 
Thou art not gone — we cannot let thee go — 

Beyond our reach — ah yes ! — and crowned with light, 

I'ut still in sight — oli, never out of sight ! 

And shall it be in vain, oh, dear befriender .' 
Nay, ours the blame, if thou no blessing bring. 

Thou art unchanged — man-brave and woman-tender 
And Christ-like merciful and pitying. 

Look with remembering eyes to God, while we 

Look on thee and grow faintly like to thee. 

(28) ' 



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S. /* ,-i?^/^k TV % 



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Z\it ^rnycf of ,%t Bernard of Olairvaux. 

A FREE TRANSLATION. 

Remember, Mother, throned in Heaven's splendor, 
That never on this earth has it been said 

That any heart which sought thy pity tender 
Was left uncomforted. 

So, vi'earied of world-friendship's changing fashion, 
And bankrupt of world-treasures utterly. 

And trusting in thy mercy and compassion, 
I come at last to thee. 

Why name to thee my needs in my entreating — 
Thou, taught in human hearts by the Divine — 

Long time agone, whjn soft His Heart was beating, 
Fond Mother, close to thine ! 

O plead with Him who on thy breast was cherished, 
Sweet sharer in the world's Redemption Pain ! 

O let it not be said that I have perished. 
Where none came yet in vain ! 
(29) 





5"hf C'hurch of thr *anfa Hu-avt. 

Lord, to riiv i;li>'\' tliis ncw-iisrii sliriiu- ! 

Wi-'vc: ^ivi'H (1111 best and Unow it .ill iiniiicct 
We'd strew our Wvrs like llowcis luloir \'\]\ Icct, 

Ami still hi' Thv i;lad debtors. Love l)i\inc. 

"I'is ours and Tliiiii' loni, hier and altar liiione ; 
( )iir bi'st of (Ml I li and all ol ilcav'cn meet licii; — 
l''air bride, sued ( liild, and old dead niotliei dear, 

'The sinner sinivcn, llic weak lo saint's sireii^tli ^rowil. 

All ( ;i\-ei , w hat are our poor t;ilts to 'I'iiee ? 

And what are we that 'I'liou shouldsl i rase our love, 
And prize Thine own — ^i\-en back in si^n thereof, 

As father with hisehilds' i^ifls tenderly ! 

With pit\' for our po\'ci t\' alone, 

And, e\'en as Tliv I leail hath shared our ,:;rief. 
And ( raved, like ours, for < oinloit and reliel. 

Share with us lieic, our lo\c lialh built 'I'll)' 'I'liione. 






HCotusi and Hi^ily. 

So.MK iiMKs ;i (lark hour loiiK'tli for us wlio arc bound lo 

hear 
'VUv l)ur(icn of lo\vl\- hihor, the fetters of lowly care. 

An hour when the heart i^rows sick of the w()rk-cla\'"s 

weaiy round, 
Loalhiui;- each oft-seen sii^ht, loathing; each oft-heard 

sound ! 

Loathing our very life, with its [Mtiful daily neeil, 
LearniiiL; in pain ami weakness that lal)or is doom indeed. 

Antl this the meed of the struggle — tent, and raiment 

and bread .'' 
Oh ior the " Requiescant." and tiie sleep o( the pardoned 

dead ! 

Oh the \isions that torture and tempt us ('x)W shall the 

heart withstand !) - 
The fountains and groves and grottoes of the Oodless 

Lotus-land ! 




Oh the soft, cntrt'alinj; voices, niakiiii; the tired heart U;ap, 
" Come over to us, ve toileis, ami we will siii<^ ye to 
slei"!")." 

A fatal slei'|i, I tidu ! hiil we are sad imlo (K-atli, 
And tile I,oliis liowtT iminans us with its swih'I aud bane- 
ful hicalii. 

W'e look to our Icllow toilers — what lu'l|), what eouifort 

there ? 
'Ihey're bowed b\- tin- scll-sanic burdcu, beset by the 

si'lf-sanie snare. 

« 

I'alleth the ashen twilight meet elose f<i|- liie dreary 

day ; 
llark to the chimes from the ( huich-tower ! but we are 

too tired to ])ra\-. 

Ah, (lod, who lo\'est Tin- creatures, sinful, and poor and 

weak, 
Ilear'sl piayer in the tired heart's ihiobbiui;, lhouL;h the 

lips are too tii'ed to speak? 



(3^) 



t ) 

^-^P 
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• I 



Is this Thy answer ? Is this the herald of Thy peace? 
For the Lotus withers before him, the songs of the Syrens 
cease. 

And the pahii-trees and the grottoes, fountains and 

streamlets bright. 
Waver and change as he cometh, then fade from our 

weary sight. 

He is worn with care and lalxjr; lie is garbed in lowliest 

guise, 
But we know the hnn, sweet mouth, and the Ijrave, brave, 

patient eyes ; 

And we know the shining lilies — no blooms of mortal 

birth — 
And we know thee, blessed Joseph, in the guise tliat was 

thine on earth. 

Thy hands are hardened witii toil, but they have toiled 

for Him 
Upon whose bidding waited legicms of Seraphim. 

{33) 




Thy hands have trained to hibor the hantls of Him who 

made thee, 
Whose strength upbore thj' weakness when thy awful 

trust dismayed thee. 

Oh Hft thy hands in appealing for us who, unwilling, be;,r 
The burden of God's beloved, lowly labor and care. 
Oh pity our fruitless tears, to-night, and our hearts too 
tired for prayer ! 





(IVUCf. 

Stay, thou art tired ; thy Father bids thee rest. 
Tarry awliile beneath tlie palm-trees' shade, 
Eat of the fruits around thee, unafraid, 
Drink of tlie hmpid stream His hand hath blest. 
After tlie sore, sharp struggle comes a guest. 
Sweet Peace, witli respite even as thou hast prayed. 
Rest, till refreshed and with new strength arrayed 
To face the old-time perils. Short at best, 
This welcome truce. Yet linger not, but swift. 
Go forth when thou art summoned, else I fear 
Thy joy will turn to grief ; the hot, red sand 
Over the delicate flowers will drift and drift 
And choke the stream, now purling crystal clear, 
And change the garden to a desert land. 



(35) 





iu .^iflht of 'iloinc. 

The shore's in sight, the shore's in siglit ! 

The longed-for lights of Home 1 see! 
I sing, for very heart's deHght — 
And you, my friend, thro' dark and l)riglit, 

I know that you are glad for nie. 

It was a stormy voyage, friend : — 

And dare I dream the worst is o'er ? 
Drear presages of hapless end 
Dismay me not ;— yet Heaven defend ! 
Ships have gone down in sight of shore. 



I ought to be afraid, I know. 

My wayward past remembering ; 

Yet, calmly into port I go, 

Whose " Sursum corda " cheers me sr) ? 
How is it I am fain to sing ? 

(3^) 




Is it because my Mother stands — 

The Virgin-Mother, fair and wise — 
Just where the waves break on the sands, 
Reaching to me her welcoming hands, 
Lifting to God her praying eyes ? 



O friend, I'm drifting from your sight — 
The Home-Hghts brighten momently- 
Yet lift once more your signal-light, 
In answer to my last good-night. 
And tell me you are glad for me ! 





Sweet, oh sweet, the voice that calhng 

My reluctant soul enthralling 

With unearthly melody — 
Now in sleeping as in waking, 
Through my dreams its music breaking, 

Seemeth thus to say to me : 

Leave, oh leave, thy girlhood's dreaming. 

Leave the bright world's changeful seeming- 
Drop life's many-colored woof; 

Leave the flowers of love to wither, 

I have called — oh hasten hither — 
Leave thy father's sheltering roof ! 

Come, beloved. I will lead thee. 

And with food from Heaven feed thee. 

In the desert waste and drear ; 
From the noontide heats I'll shield thee, 
At my word the rock will yield thee. 

Living water cool and clear. 

(38) 




Did I ever aught to grieve thee, 
Did thy hope in me deceive thee ? 

Now 1 call thcc, bill in vain ! 
From mine arms in fear thou fleest, 
In the love that claims thee, seest 

Life-long fetters, life-long pain. 

O beloved, why delayest ? 

Still 1 call, and still thou strayest, 

Wearily, so wearily — 
And with pitiful endeavor, 
Seekest rest that never, never, 

Wilt thou find except in me ! 





For a A^iiii' s Profession. 

Yea, vanquished am I — thralled at last, and bound ! 

Vain, vain to strive against the Strong — all vain 

The toil, the tears, the weariness, the drain 

Of hot heart's blood from many a cruel wound — 

Lost, lost for Earth and Heaven ! ViwX. lo ! I've found- 

I, a veiled captive in His triumph train, 

Joy that effaceth memory of pain. 

" Thy days," the world said, " run in dreary round ; 

Naught hast thou gained, but much hast forfeited. 

Art thou not fain — speak true ! — again to be 

Unfettered on the flower-strewn pathway broad ? " 

" Ah, tighten these dear bonds," I shuddering said — 

'• My Conquer(jr, but not mine Enemy, 

Nay, but my Friend of friends, my King, my God ! " 



(40) 




" Lcctatus sum in his qua; dicta sunt viilii : domum Domini 
ibimusy 

Thcju hast piti-ed my heart's great needing, 
Thou hast stooped to my low estate, 

And opened unto my pleading 
The long-sealed beautiful gate. 

Through the wilds of gloom and sadness. 
Thou hast been my guide and guard, 

Into the light and gladness 

Of the courts of Thy House, O Lord. 

Why should I fear or falter 

Under a roof so blest ? 
Here, near Thy holy Altar, 

Surely Thy child may rest. 

Here in Thy House it endeth 
My quest that was erst so vain, 
(40 





For the Spirit of Peace descendeth, 
Stilling the (;lden pain. 

In Thy House, my Father, never 
Is grief that burns and stings, 

Nor the anguish of lost endeavor, 

Nor the shadow that chills and clings. 

For I'liy love makes rest of labor, 
And gain of the bitterest loss. 

And the glory and joy of Thabor, 
In the shade of the drearest Ooss. 



(42) 




pi.'Sirngftli. 

I HAJ> a lovely pearl — a wondrous one — 
The rarest, purest pearl in all the land. 

Oh, my dim eyes that saw not how it shone ! 

I dropped it in the dust, nor mourned it gone. 
But kissed the flaunting flowers in my hand. 

To-day — oh, late and vain or tears or prayer! 

Oh, late and vain, lost pearl, my fondest quest ! 
Though now, at last, I know thee radiant fair, 
And now I know thee sweet beyond compare — 

Now that thou shinest on another's breast. 



(43) 





;^n 3lUuv-3Damir. 

O SHINING meek and shining bright, 

An Altar-Lamp, indeed ! 
With ready, tender, helpful light 

For groping wanderer's need. 

A\'ithout the temple-walls he stands, 

His heart is sore with sin ; — 
Through pictured saints' outreaching hands 

Thou beckonest him within. 



Into the House of Christ the Lord, 
The wanderer's rest from roaming — 

Where robe and ring and festive board 
Await his longed-for coming. 

Sweet beacon-light, what joy is thine ! 

I breathe, in far-off greeting ; — 
So near, so near the Heart Divine, 

Thou tremblest with its beatin<r. 





More joy to thee will yet be given, 
When comes the Eternal Rest ; — 

Christ's Altar-Lamp on earth, in Heaven 
A star upon His breast. 

There, shining meek and shining bright, 

Wilt know, O fair and dear ! 
How many a Heavenward-leading light, 

Thy flame enkindled here ? 





O LONG-LOST friend, what have I harvested 

Of thy youth's bloom and mine, with its dehght 

Of love and laughter and fore-runnings bright ? 

Not peace, not hope, but life-long pain instead. 

Sometimes this sleepeth, till I dream it dead— 

When lo ! a word, a look, a soft-drawn breath, 

And into fullest life it wakeneth, 

Ah, me ! unrested and uncomforted 

For all its sleep. How could I let thee stray 

Into the vale of death, thy torch unlit. 

And mine ablaze that might have kindled it ? 

Oh, what befell thee on that fearsome way .'' 

And oh, what greeting would be thine to me 

Could thy voice reach me from eternity? 



(46) 





He came unlo His own, but His own thc-y knew Him 

not. 
Were the portents all misread ? Were tlie prophecies 

forgot ? 
l'"or tlie Mother-NTaid no mother opened her door in 

pity- 
No room for David's Heir in the homes of David's City — 
'I'he herald Star unnoted, the angels' song unheeded ; 
The Lord of all with His creatures in vain for shelter 

pleaded. 

He came unto His own — but ah ! they locjked for a King 
With armies and waving banners and thunders of triumph- 
ing, 
To smite His people's foes from the face of the shuddering 

earth ! — 
What ! this the Promised, the Long-Desired, this P.abe of 
humblest birth — 

(47) 





No babe was lowlier cradled since e\'er the first drew 
breath — 

Ah, me ! in scorn rejected — veiled Lord of life and death ! 
Just Heaven ! and we dare to chide them ! Are we wiser, 

keener-eyed, 
Less prone to measure the ways of Crod with the little 

line of our pride ? 
Now, as of old, Christ comes to His own. and His own 

receive Him not, 
Through the crowded city streets He fares, seeking a 

resting spot. 
If the King but came in His beauty, we had found His 

coming sweet. 
And strewed our prized and precious things in the path- 
way of His feet. 
But to know Him in His lowliest — in the orphan child 

forlorn, 
The crippled beggar, the outcast, whom the untried 

virtuous scorn — 
Ah ! this is test and touchstone — thrice blessed he who 

stands — 





He shall laugh in the latter day, with the Kingdom's 
keys in his hands. 

We open hearts and homes to Thee. Oli, make us brave 
and wise ! 

And strengtlien, on this Christmas Eve, our dim, short- 
sighted eyes, 

That we may know Thee, Lord, whate'er Tliy sad or 
strange disguise ! 



(49) 





"Ic M it unto m.'' 

We read the sad, sweet story of the life of Christ on earth, 
And murmur through fast-iiowing tears, " Ah, Lord, 

Thou'd hadst no dearth 
Of all our love could yield Thee, had only wc been there ! 
Our homes, our hearts, our labor's fruit — what joy with 

Thee to share." 



We read the sad, sweet story — " Whate'er ye do " (saith 

He) 
" To the least of these, My little ones, ye do it unto Me ; " 
But we somehow miss its meaning, and somehow we 

forget 
That, in His homeless little ones, Christ walks among us 

yet. 

In them He suffers hunger, in them He is a-weary. 
In them is cold and shelterless, astray in by-ways dreary. 
Shall we go peaceful, happy, nor fear a taint of sin. 
While we ope no door in pity to let the Christ-Child in ? 

(50) 





Go, spread your wings, sweet angel, l;righl messenger 

from Heaven ! 
Go, whisper unto every iieart tiie gracious j^romise given ; 
( !hrist judgetli not by lionois, world-fame, orgold orglcjry — 
List to the solemn warning of the holy Gospel Story : 

What time yc; sland Ixtfore Iliiii in the awful judgment 

day 
When l^arth and Heaven, fne-lried, like a scroll have 

rolled away, 
They pass, hut lie rc^maincth, and this your test shall l:)e, 
"As ye did unto the least of Mine, so did ye unto Me." 



(5') 





^Undiuii Z\it Wit. 

I THOUGHT tliat while veil liid a sacred shrine ; 
I thought it hid the white Hame that can rise 
Only from tire of purest sacrifice 
Lit from the Lord's own Altar. It was mine 
To dream fair tracery of sheaf and vine 
Upon that baffling veil which jealously 
Shrouded — Ah, what of holiness ?— Ah, me ! 
How many a blessed day did rise and shine 
On my vain dreaming. — Well, I dream no more 
Of victim, altar-fire, and sanctuary ; 
I hear no more sweet anthems for the wail 
Of my awakened heart repenting sore. 
O hitter fruit of knowledge ! Woe is me ! 
Would God that I had never rent the veil 1 





(Tltc ^Mnt profaned 

How is the fine gold diinincd, the kingly purple fadfxl — 

The light of the sun in the midday heaven by mists 
malign o'ershaded ! 

'l"he slones of the temple scattered — the gems of the 
inner shrine 

Trodden down in the mire, and the sacred cups pro- 
faned with tile heathen's wine ! 

I thought I had died to see it, but tliat was when I 
forgot 

The Strength that is Almighty, antl the Love that sleep- 
eth nc;t. 

Now 1 rest in His arms unfearing ; in Him is my heart's 

trust. 
The sun will pierce thrr)' the poison-mists, the gold is 

imdcr the rust ; 

And the stones and the gems re-gathered, a temple far 

more fair 
Than the one I loved, will arise at last to the patience of 

my prayer. 

(53) 





(The Ttcaiic^t (Troo.^ Of ^U. 

I've borne full many a sorrow, I've suffered many a loss — 
But now, with a strange, new anguish, I carry this last 

dread cross ; 
For of this be sure, my dearest, whatever thy life befall, 
The cross that our own hands fashion is the heaviest 

cross of all. 

Heavy and hard I made it in the days of my fair strong 

youth, 
Veiling mine eyes from the blesse'd light, and closing 

my heart to truth. 
Pity me, Lord, whose mercy passeth my wildest thought, 
For I never dreamed of the bitter end of the work my 

hands had wrought ! 

In the sweet morn's flush and fragrance I wandered o'er 

dewy meadows, 
And I hid from the fervid noontide glow in the cool, green, 

woodland shadows ; 

(54) 





And I never recked as 1 sang aloud in my wilful, selfi.sh 

glee, 
Of the mighty woe that was drawing nigh to darken the 

world for uk,'. 

liut it came at last, my dearest, -what need t(j tell thee 

hcjw ? 
Mayst never know of the wild, wild woe that my heart is 

bearing now ! 
Over my sununer's glory crept a damp and chilling shade, 
And I staggered under the heavy cross that my sinful 

hands Jiad made 

I go where the sliadcjws deepen, and the end seems far 

off yet— 
(rod keep thee safe from the sharing of this w(jful late 

regret ! 
For of this be sure, my dearest, whatever thy life befall, 
The crosses we make for ourselves, alas I are the heaviest 

ones of all. 



(55) 





(The (J^Hri.^tmasi' (THorn. 

— " Where the winter thorn 
IJlossoms at ('hristmas, mindful of Our Lord.' 

For your sorrowful Christmas Day 
What word can I dream or say, 
That will not mock the desolate house whcnx' you sit and 
grieve apart ; 
Or whence you look, I know 
On thorn and flint and snow, 
While the worst of the thorns, ah me ! are sheathed in your 
bleeding heart. 

Oh, I mind one Christmas night — 
A long-ago delight — 
When together we smiled or sighed over stories quaint 
and old ; 
And that of the winter thorn 
A-bloom on Christmas morn, 
Comes back to me to-night as the sweetest ever told. 

(56) 





Oh, you will not shrink to hear 
The word that it gives me, dear, 
For the empty house and the desolate heart, and the tears 
that must have way : 
" This the poor thorn's renown, 
I made the only crown 
That He ever wore on earth, who is Lord of the Christmas 
Day. 

x\nd I blossom on Christmas morn, 

Remembering He was born 
With the heart of man to suffer and the hands of God to 
heal. 

Oh joy, for the barren places, 

The dreary, storm-swept spaces, 

Where the sudden flower and vine will the paths of His 

feet reveal." 

r 

Sad heart, whatever I do, 
I cannot comfort you. 
For through mine own tears I see the light of the Christ- 
mas morn. 

(57) 





And so, my sweetest friend, 
The only word I send 
Must be cheer for you and nie alike — the word of 
Christmas thorn. 



the 




m 



An ! know what true success is. Young hearts dream, 

Dream nobly, and plan loflily, nor deem 

That length of years is length of living. See ! 

A whole life's labor in an hour is done ; 

Not by world-tests the Heavenly crown is won — 

(To 6o(l thf ^Hau %^ uhat Uc mcan^ to be 



(59) 



CoUtmbu,^, the ^VniflUt of ^aith, 

He gave a world to men — 
What word of mortal ken 
Immortal praise best saitli, 
Oh, praise the Knight of Faith ! 

" i)h, for a shorter way," 

Cried the men of pillage and fray, 
" To the unsearched Ind afar, 

Where the treasures of ages are. 

" A short way thither must be," 
Spake ( ■olumbus steadfastly, 

" And its perils I will dare 
For a prize beyond compare. 

" To more than ye dream or name 
I will trace a way of flame. 
Oh, quest of the Crucified ! 
Oh, souls for whom He died! 
(60) 



^ 



And well may the diamond .shine, 
And the red gold in the mine ; 
For a pledge in my hands they'll be 
Christ's Sepulchre to free." 

Oh, the way to the Land Unseen 
Is the \\'ay of the Cross, I ween. 
Seeking it, youth was spent, 
Seeking it, manhood bent. 

Seeking it long years, came 
Little but scorn and blame, 
The taunt and the bitter word — 
The pain of hope deferred. 

But vain to quench or dim 
The fire in the heart of him 
Whose way to the Land Afar 
Was lit by God's own Star. 

Not to far Ind, great soul ! 
Thine was a grander goal, 
Meet for the grandest faith, 
Say it with fearless breath, 
(6i) 



^ 



fej?r*^r . 




Since theirs, who foilowecl frrjiii fii 
The Lord (Christ's woiuhjrful Star, 
Lighting and guiding them 
'J'ill it stood at Bethlehem. 

Not thine to free Christ's Tomb, 
But (Jhrist's people — through the gl 
Thy path for the feet of Faith 
To tlie souls that sat in death. 

'J'hine to plant, with Hag unfurled, 
The Cross on the fair New World, 
And the fruit of that seed to be 
Earth's noblest liberty. 



(r,2) 




\l 



V 



At last ! at last ! Oh joy 1 Oh victory ! 
But not to me, my God, ah, not to me, 
But to Thy Name the praise, the glory be ! 

At last ! at last ! but when was prayer unheeded ? 

And more wouldst Thou have given, had more been 

needed, 
For purer lips than mine my cause have pleaded. 

O trust, that trembled on the verge of failing ! 

timid heart, at shadowy terrors quailing ! 
Spending thyself in conflict unavailing ! 

Dear God, forgive ! my fears are shamed to flight ; 
O'ershadowed by I'hy mercy and Thy might, 

1 rest, in humble-hearted, still delight. 

Oh teach me song to praise Thee gladsomely. 
Whose strong hands cleared the tangled way for me, 
And saved me from the snares I could not flee ! 

(63) 



^ 



.i^<. 



*! 



Fain would 1 linger under skies so fair, 

Too happy here, Lord, in my answered prayer, 

To reck what stars are shining otherwhere. 



THE END. 




,» WATCHWORDS™^ 

""■'"' JOHNBOYLE-OREILLY 

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